This is a tale of a slicked wedding singer from the Gaza Strip who won Arab Idol.
This is a tale of joy blooming from a loosely defined region where nuances are overlooked and histories are simplified through the lenses of failure, conflict, and narrow aesthetic formulas.

This is a tale of strangers in strange lands, of non-native wanderers with attitude, of individuals who navigate the chasms between cultures and don’t care anymore about what Edward Said said.
« I’m telling you, if you don’t come now and bring Viagra for your father, I’ll go shame us all. »1 This is a tale of male thugs and of father tongues, of alternative imagination, of alchemical reactions, and of human intimacies.
This is a tale of dark humor and light spirit, of grooming of bodies and cars and carpets, of bifurcated gender relations, and of a “Global” South / “Middle” East / “non” West burdened with symbols and placed within the vacuums of loaded cardinal points.
This is a tale of the familiar and the foreign, and of the unapologetically vernacular.
Un-a-po-lo-ge-tic.

This is a tale of sensuality.
This is a tale of cracking into the sidelines and cracking jokes.
This is the tale of Scheherazade in One Thousand and One Nights: a failure to amuse means kaput.